by Kar, Alla
“Hey, baby,” she said, smiling down at me. “You have a good day at school?” She bent to kiss the top of my head, and squatted in front of me. Her fingers traced my hair and nose. Then she slightly tapped the end of it with her fingertip.
“Yes,” I said. “I have a surprise for you,” I said, proudly.
“You do?” Mom says, standing up and guiding me inside. Throwing my backpack on the table, I started pulling my work from the bag until I found the card we made in class that day. “You like it? I made it today for you!” I pointed toward her chest.
She faked a gasp and covered her mouth. “What a pretty picture, why don’t we put it up on the refrigerator, huh?” Mom walked over and placed a heart magnet on top of my card. I beamed. “Why don’t we eat a snack, and then you can do your homework before your dad gets home.”
I nodded. Mom made me a peanut butter sandwich while I went over my spelling homework for the evening. Mom kept looking out the window and frowning every few minutes. “Is Daddy coming home soon?”
She glanced over at me and smiled, her blue eyes sad. “Yep. I’m sure he’ll be home any minute.”
Mom and I ate supper by ourselves at the table. My Barbie doll sat in the extra spot with a plate of invisible food in front of her. When Mom turned on Nickelodeon for the night, I knew Dad was late. He always watched Nick with me each night. After two shows Momma ran me a warm bath, and I played while she helped me wash my hair.
It wasn’t until Mom was running a comb through my hair that we heard the front door sling open. Mom’s blue eyes met mine in the mirror, and she patted my head. “Dad’s home,” she said.
She finished brushing my hair, grabbed my hand and walked us into the living room. Daddy was standing by the door. His plaid shirt was torn down the middle. His dark hair was a mess. His dark eyes met my mother’s and I could feel the tension through the room. “Hey, baby,” he said, voice low, looking down at me. Sliding out of his work boots, Dad squatted down and motioned for me to sit on his knee.
I ran toward him, and wrapped my arms around his neck. He smelled of something, I had no idea what it was at the time, but I know now it was alcohol. “Daddy, you missed supper. We already ate!” I threw my hands up like it was the end of the world. He rubbed his scruffy jaw against my soft cheek.
“I know, baby. Daddy was … ” he met my mother’s eyes, behind me, “… busy. You want to go ahead and get in the bed?”
“No!” I yelled, laughing when my dad started to tickle me. “Okay! Okay! But, can I sleep in your bed until y’all go to bed?”
Dad smiled, his brown eyes warm with love. “Yes.” Daddy carried me to his bedroom, and tossed me onto the red comforter. Leaning down, he whispered in my ear, “I love you, Layla girl. You get some sleep.”
“No bedtime story?” I ask, through sleepy eyes.
Dad frowned. “Not tonight, baby girl. I need to talk to your mom. Go to sleep for Daddy.” He kissed my forehead and left.
My mother’s cry was loud. Dad and she were fighting, while I hid under their covers with my Barbie. She was dancing on my stomach when I heard the front door swing open. “No!” my mother screamed.
Someone else was talking, a man, not my dad. Loud shatters and crashes thumped from the living room. Shaking with fear, I pulled back the covers and tip-toed toward the door. A dark-haired man stood with his back to me, his hands in tight fists. “Give me the money you hustled from me and I’ll leave right now.”
Mom was hiding behind my dad. Dad slowly shook his head. “You lost, get the fuck over it. Get out of my house. Now. Before I call the police.”
The man hit his large fist against his other fist and laughed. “I’m not leaving. And you’re not either. Give. Me. My. Money!”
Dad growled, shoved Mom onto the couch and threw his fist against the man’s face. It cracked loudly, the man slumping to his knees from the one hit. “Get out,” my dad yelled, pointing his finger toward the opened front door.
The tall man stood up one leg at a time, then took a swing at my dad, hitting him in the jaw. The sound sent chills down to my toes. Another hit and my dad fell to the floor.
“No!” I screamed, running into the living room. The tall man turned and looked down at me. His eye was black, and his lip bleeding down his chin.
“Layla!” Mom yelled, trying to get to me but Dad grabbed her arm.
“Stay back,” Dad hissed to me, then turned to look at my mom. “Stay back,” he repeated.
The tall man stared down at me. His big eyes watching carefully. “Why don’t you go back to bed, sweetie,” he cooed toward me. “This is grownup business.”
Curling my little hands into fists, I reached out and kicked him hard in the shin. “Ouch, fucking kid,” he hissed, trying to grab my arm. That’s when my dad flew up and grabbed him in a chokehold.
“Go back to bed, Layla,” he yelled.
I stood motionless, not able to move my body. What was happening? I had no idea. All I knew was that my family was in danger. Momma was crying hysterically, her screams echoing off the walls. “Now, Layla!” my dad screamed.
Tears fell from my eyes but I ran and dove under the covers, shaking with fear. I have no idea how long I laid there, two minutes seems like an hour to a kid. The door swung open and I felt my dad sit on the bed. Pulling the covers from my face, he stared down at me. His hair was slicked back from sweat. Blood covered his face and shirt. A finger trailed down my neck to hold my hand. “Baby, Daddy’s so sorry. So. So. Sorry. I love you so much. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
Running his free hand through his hair, he stared down at me. “Layla, Daddy loves you more than life itself. You know how you mess up on your homework sometimes?”
I nodded again.
“Grownups mess up too. Me especially. Daddy’s made a lot of mistakes, sweetie. But, he won’t anymore. Because he loves you recklessly. Your mother too. Can you forgive me?”
Crawling up, I wrapped my hands around his neck. He sobbed into my hair, stroking the length. “Yes, Daddy. Because, I love you, too.”
Another sob broke from his lips. He smiled at me with his dark eyes, laid me back in the bed and held me until I fell into a deep, dark sleep.
***
Taylor drags his fingernail against my jaw. “Where did you go? Hustler, are you okay?” Turning over, I stare at Taylor.
“Yes,” I say, my voice rough, barely recognizable. “There is just so much to remember here. I remember it all like it was yesterday.”
Sitting down beside me, he looks around. The old furniture is nothing to be proud of. But, it’s my past. My only life I have left from back then. Sitting up, I start to run my fingers along the dusty dresser. My mother’s jewelry box is perched on the dresser, one drawer still opened. Pulling it to the edge, I look down into the drawer. Only a small silver chain, with a locket on the end is in there. I pull it out, and hold the locket in the palm of my hand. The heart has my dad’s and my own name carved into it. Taylor’s breath on the back of my neck makes my hair stand on end. A soft buzz of a kiss slides against my neck. “Your mother’s?” he asks.
I nod, squeezing the locket in my grip. “Yes, she wore it every day,” I choke out.
“Why don’t you take it?” he whispers. “I’ll help you put it on.” I screw my eyes shut. Everything in me wants to take the necklace. To cherish every moment I had with my mother. To be able to wear it like she did. To always be reminded of the love we had for each other in this rundown trailer. But, I don’t. It feels wrong. It was hers and not mine. Even though I know they’re never coming back, I place it back into the drawer of the jewelry box and shut it.
“No,” I whisper. “I want to go now.”
Taylor stares down at me, rubbing the back of his knuckles against my cheek bone. He frowns but slowly nods. The lump in my throat throbs, as I walk through the house one last time. Taylor wraps his hands around my shoulders from behind me. Taylor rubs his fingers against my neck, down
my back and over my hips. Sending soothing waves throughout me. “I’ll lock up for you and make sure everything is secure. Go get into the truck, baby.” He presses a soft kiss against the hollow space beneath my ear.
I give Taylor the key and turn to leave. I close my eyes and press my head against the screen door. My body is hurting in ways it hasn’t in years. Every atom in myself burns with agony. When I compose myself, I turn and see someone standing by Taylor’s Hummer.
It’s Peter Simmons. He looks exactly the same. Dark brown hair, dark brown eyebrows that hang low over brown eyes. He has more tattoos now, a bracelet of tribal markings, like Taylor’s, around his upper arms. He was the trailer park bad boy. “Layla?” he asks, in a slow southern drawl.
“Peter?” I ask.
He sways on one leg and pulls at the collar of his mechanic’s T-shirt. “Is it really you? Or am I having a wonderful dream?” His eyes skim down my body, making me squirm. “I haven’t seen you in three years.”
I nod and take the few steps down to stand in front of him. Taylor is still in the house, making sure all the doors and windows are locked. I’m hoping Peter will be gone before Taylor gets out. I dated Peter when I was in high school. He’s very ... pushy. A huge flirt. They’re too much alike and Taylor will hate him. “How have you been?” I ask.
A smile forms on his scruffy jaw. He starts to pull me into a hug and rests his hands on the small of my back. Pulling back, I take a step away from him. He smells like cigarettes and beer. His snarky smile grows when he looks at the Hummer. “Good. How about you? What brings you all the way back here?”
“Christmas. We’re visiting my grandparents.”
He laughs and brings his thumb against the corner of his mouth. “Ole Grandpa still an old bastard? Remember when I would sneak in? He caught us?” A devilish smile rides on his lips. I keep my eyes low but give him a small smile. My grandpa hated Peter so much. He caught him sneaking in one time and pressed a gun to his throat. A little overdramatic, but that’s my grandpa. Peter loved the thrill. Loved getting into trouble. I fit in perfectly with him, back then.
“Still my grandpa,” I say, glancing back at the trailer.
“Hey,” Peter says, grabbing my hand. He brushes his finger along my knuckles. “You okay?”
I give him a small nod. “I’m fine, just coming back to check on the house.” Scratching my neck, I kick my foot against the ground.
Digging in his pocket, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it. With it hanging out the corner of his mouth he says, “How long you going to be in town?”
“Until Christmas Eve. We’re heading back to Ohio for Christmas there.”
Peter lifts a dark eyebrow and a smile crawls up his jaw. Leaning against the truck, he crosses his ankles. “We?”
“My fiancé”
“Fiancé?” he asks, smiling. “I don’t believe it. You’ve settled down?” He rubs his jaw with his finger. “You serious?” He brings his eyes to meet mine. “Because, it’s a shame. You look amazing, Layla.”
Opening my mouth, I shut up when I feel Taylor’s arm wrap around my waist. I stiffen in his grip.
Taylor’s eyes grow stormy with a dark, vivid frustration. He clears his throat. “As fun as this conversation must be, we have to get back to the house.” We so don’t have to but Peter is making me uncomfortable. “Yeah,” I say. Peter eyes Taylor up and down. Taking a long drag on his cigarette, he stomps it out on Taylor’s tire and leaves the butt in the ridge of the tire. I feel the anger start to form in Taylor’s chest. It’s like a growl.
Reaching forward, Peter takes me in a hug. Then presses a kiss to the top of my head and then I’m pulled backwards.
“Do you have a fucking death wish, kid?” Taylor asks. “Don’t you even put your hands on her like that again or I’ll break your goddamn neck. And while you’re at it, pick up that cigarette butt.”
Peter throws his head back and laughs. I know exactly what’s going on in his mind. He’s from the rough part of town. Where boys fight in the dirt until one is too broken to move. He doesn’t realize Taylor will hand his ass to him and then take it back for another beating.
“I had Layla first, bro. It was just a friendly hug.” The way he says it shows it was clearly not a friendly hug. And by the way his eyes are roaming around my body, I know Taylor is going to lose it. Not now. Please, not now.
“Taylor,” I warn. “Let’s just go, okay? I want to go home.”
“Yeah, Taylor,” Peter says, giving him a crooked smile. “Go home. Be the bigger man.” Another smile.
Taylor’s breath starts to quicken, his chest rising in powerful jabs. “Layla get into the truck now.”
“No, Taylor! Stop!” Not another fight. His face is just now healing from being jumped, now he’s going to fight … again. Because he can’t walk away. Not from this. He told me he would stop fighting unless it was necessary. I’m assuming our definitions of necessary are completely different.
He turns toward me, his eyes dark, and he roughly grabs my shoulders. “Get into the fucking car, Layla.”
“No!” I scream, shoving my hands against his chest. He grips my wrists and places them at my side.
Resting his nose against my cheek, he whispers into my ear, “Get into the fucking truck, Layla. Or you’ll regret it.” He’s fuming. Smoke billowing from his ears, fuming.
Peter is laughing hysterically, and I can feel Taylor shaking against me. “Get in the truck. I won’t say it again,” he snarls against my ear. He bites it, hard and I snatch away from him. I walk around to the passenger side and get in.
Peter is smirking when Taylor walks up to him. “You keep your motherfucking mouth shut, and I’ll leave without you half-dead on the ground. Do not ever disrespect Layla or me again. You fucking got that, grease monkey?”
Peter’s face reddens and a wave of anger flashes over his face. Rolling up his sleeves, he keeps an eye on Taylor. “You think you’re going to come up here with your fancy truck and your fucking attitude and punk me, son? You’ve gotta another thing comin’ to you.”
Taylor’s Adam’s apple bobs in his thick throat. Taylor is shaking again. God, he’s going to blow. Rolling his neck, he waits for Peter to step forward. Taylor guards himself perfectly, every powerful muscle showing through his T-shirt, slick to his chest from sweating. Finally, Peter swings, Taylor ducks down and gives Peter one hard upper cut and –extraordinarily –knocks Peter down to the gravel.
One fucking punch.
A smile curls along Taylor’s jaw and he looks down at Peter and dares him to move with his eyes. Of course, he doesn’t. Stepping over Peter, Taylor strides toward the truck, opens the door and starts the truck. Pulling out, he leaves Peter on the gravel behind us. The dust settling over him from Taylor’s truck tires.
I swear I see red. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Taylor. You’re just going to leave him there?”
Taylor’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, a small grumble leaving his throat. “No, Layla. I’m going to go lay him a bed of fucking roses, so he can be rested after I knocked him out. Yes! I’m leaving him there. He fucking deserves it. He provoked me, because it seems everyone in this fucking town hates me. And wants in your fucking pants.”
I jerk back as if I’ve been slapped. Heat travels up my neck and engulfs my head. I’m shaking against the leather seats. “Taylor,” I warn. “I told you to drop it. I’ll never see that asshole again! We could have avoided all of this. What’s going to happen when he wakes up, Taylor? Huh? What if he comes to my grandparents’ house? What if he tries to fight you there?” I push his shoulder. His eyes flare with anger but he keeps his hands plastered on the wheel.
“Layla do you not understand that I’m not that guy. I will never be the guy your grandpa wants. I’ll never be able to look the other way when a guy touches you. Or looks at you. You’re fucking mine! And I won’t hear your fucking mouth about it.”
Screaming, I rare back and push him again. We’re pullin
g into the driveway but I don’t care. I push at him again, feeling my rage seep from my body. He pulls to the side of the deserted driveway and grabs my wrists in his. “Don’t hit me again, Layla,” he says through his teeth.
Jerking my hand from him, I open the door and start running toward the house. I don’t hear the truck following me, so I figure he’s close behind. His arm tightens beneath my breasts, proving how helpless I am. I yank his hand away from my mouth. He lets me. “Let me go, Taylor. Right. Now!”
He pulls my wrists together with one hand and pulls me against his hard body, hard steel pressing against my soft curves. “Get in the truck, Layla,” he whispers against my cheek. Taking one lobe in his teeth, he bites me. Branding me. “Right now, hustler. We’re not going to do this. You’re mine. I won’t tolerate any bullshit. Do you hear me?”
“Let me go,” I growl.
His dark eyes watch me carefully before reaching around me, tossing me over his shoulder and throwing me in the passenger seat. He locks the door and climbs into the truck. The tires spin and we’re at the guest house before I can think to cuss him out. Flying out of the car door, I race toward the house. No one is here but I don’t look to check. I take the steps two at a time. How dare he! I’m a grown ass woman. I won’t tolerate this caveman shit. Or will I? A deep ache in my stomach craves him like this. Craves the animal I know he can be.
I’m tossing my shoes against the wall when the door knob jiggles. “Open the door,” he whispers roughly.
I don’t move. I take my socks off and sit on the edge of the bed. I rest my cheek against my open palm and try to calm myself down. Then the door cracks down the middle, and the door flies off its hinges. Taylor looks like a fucking gladiator. He’s raw, cold and real. “Layla,” he says, walking toward me. I’m shaking with anticipation.
Grabbing my arm, he jerks me up and hard against him. As soon as his fingers touch me I’m undone. “Turn around Layla,” he whispers. “Put all fours on the goddamn bed.”
